The Balance
by Kiwiambrosia
Summary: Every few generations there rises a Dark force, intent on crushing the Light. A self-fulfilling prophecy of the duel between good and evil. There have been many Dark Lords throughout history, and each has a story. We all know of Voldemort and Grindelwald, but what of before? Who reigned before them?


_**A/N**_ _\- Harry Potter characters and Universe are not mine by any means, but the OC's? They owe their existences to me. Here's what has been floating around in my brain space. Y'know, instead of writing for anything else. Because my Muse is a flighty little- HOPE YOU LIKE IT! :D_

 **The Balance**

 _ **Chapter One**_

"It has been said that in every age there comes a new dark wizard to test the strength of our wills - a threat to our way of life, to the peace we hold dear." A feminine voice that was both melodic and sultry spoke clearly, and with charismatic inflection enraptured the students of a fourth year class. "This has been an almost prophetic tradition through the many eras it's been since The Founders walked among us; we learn that for every dark, there is a light to balance it."

Each of the four Houses were well represented in the sea of students sitting in the enlarged lecture hall. The new History of Magic Professor -well, new wasn't the best term- Professor Riordon had been teaching in the position for three years now. She had changed the entire department with her appointment, overhauling the curriculum and doing things her way. Headmaster Flitwick was incredibly proud; he approved her every request, bestowing accolades and near constant compliments on her teaching skills or personal research projects. If it hadn't been a well known fact that the diminutive man was a very excitable person, more credence would have been given to the rumours he was being bewitched. Under her direction, the class had gone from dismal, dull, and nap-inducing to one of the more popular of the compulsory classes. Professor Bianca Riordon was young, but the farthest thing from inexperienced.

"In these halls you've been taught all about Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, later named the Chosen One; his nemesis, a dark wizard who named himself Lord Voldemort; the army of Death Eaters he created, bent on hatred, fueled by blood purity. You all know the stories: the cloak, the stone, the wand. Soul Magic and Horcruxes." Her voice easily carried to the back of the hall, reaching the students who normally would use this class to catch up on sleep. But since Professor Binns had passed on, the curriculum was far from boring. Since she had started teaching, more and more students were becoming interested - _finally_ \- in their histories. Students were more often than not paying just as much attention in this class as they would in Charms or Transfiguration. The Board of Governors were immensely pleased with her work.

The professor casually paced in front of her podium, her floor-length maroon robes dragging beautifully behind her as she gave her last lecture of the day. Posture straight and tall she moved like a predator taunting her prey. Dark hair pulled back and mostly hidden underneath a wide brimmed black pointed hat. Dressed stylishly, she was one of the more attractive Professors. Unblemished skin, alluring figure, a wicked sense of humor. It was believed she _had_ to be younger than the 36 years she claimed. Something she laughed at nearly constantly. Her neatly organized desk stood behind her to the left, framed by a large stained glass window depicting an intimidating but sleeping dragon whose wings would flex every so often. Occasionally steam would rise from the dragon's nostrils and its large yellow eyes would open, appearing to take note of each student or the relative situation in the classroom before closing its eyes once more in sleep. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, causing the dragon to sparkle in shine in a variety of reds and oranges.

"But before Tom Riddle took up the mantle, there was a man who preceded him: Gellert Grindelwald, a wizard infatuated with power and the subjugation of Muggles. He felt the people of magic -witches and wizards like ourselves- should rightfully rule over those who were not, though his main goal was possessing the Deathly Hallows, objects of supposed myth and legend. He was defeated by Albus Dumbledore. You all know, of course, this happened in-" She paused for someone to provide a reply, her bright eyes scanning the classroom in search of a face, a hand, that would answer. "You. Miss-."

"Goodwin, Anne Goodwin. Grindelwald was defeated in 1945." A petite fourth-year Ravenclaw girl had lowered her hand before she supplied her name and gave the answer. Professor Riordon nodded and moved her gaze away from the young girl, who visibly seemed to relax in her seat, as if being called on was a harrowing experience.

"Correct. Thank you Miss Goodwin, but what do you know of before? Before Grindelwald? Yes, of course," she flapped her hand as if to bat away an annoying question, "there were the Ogre Wars, the Goblin Wars, the Giant Wars, the Centaur Uprising." She counted them off on long delicate fingers. "But you can't tell me about the Silver March, which is the pretty name given to the near extinction of the Unicorn herds," she supplied as their expressions turned curious. "Nor do you know of the Wraiths -creatures that predate Dementors- that descended upon Europe and brought to us the Black Plague, though most of you can recite the stories, the causes of deaths and names of our own castle's deceased. Those ghosts that linger are only a few years older than you. So many wars, so much death. But those who ignore history are condemned to repeat it." Her tone gave the impression she was lamenting their poor educations.

"Yet you have been taught _nothing_ of the great Hunters!" She whirled on them, voice having risen a notch or two implying how passionate or perhaps angry she was about the idea. " _Mortal_ men and women, Muggles that tore the earth apart to find every Vampire, Werewolf, Veela…" She took up her pacing again, "Any creature or person they -in their righteousness- deemed paranormal or supernatural. They slaughtered thousands in their quest to rid the world of evil, some in the name of their gods, others for simpler purposes of survival. But that is for next week's lesson. I apologize for letting my mind stray. Now," She stopped in front of her podium, and turned her attention to the many students in her class, giving them a small smile as they collectively seemed disappointed at the prospect of waiting. Children were so impatient. "before Grindelwald's reign, before even the birth of Dumbledore himself in 1881, there was an even darker force that gripped the world tight in its claws. It was a time of blood and terror. Let me remind you that this was before the Aurors you know today. Their Order was newly formed, not even two years old-" She was cut off by a student.

"And that was when?" interrupted a young man, who was leaning back dangerously in his chair. He had a sneer on his face, as if there were much better ways to spend his time than being here.

She was of half a mind to tip that chair back and watch his head crack on the cold stone. Her fingers twitched at the temptation, her eyes narrowed just a fraction at the culprit, and in her mind's eye she could see the blood pooling on the floor, hear the horrified screams of the teenagers in her class. She could almost taste the chaos the room would erupt into. She didn't even need to move; for years her use of a wand had merely been for appearances. It would be so easy. Just a thought…

She replied without missing a beat, "The Auror Order was founded in 1738, Mr. Andrews. I'll not ask again; pay attention to your lessons. We covered this last week." In one swift movement she pulled her wand from where it was hidden in her sleeve and flicked it towards the student. His chair jerked forwards sharply and the boy nearly face-planted his desk with the sudden force of the chair being set right. A few of the students around him snickered and hid smiles behind robe sleeves and textbooks

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff for speaking out of turn." She spoke calmly and evenly as she regained her self control. Then, turning her warm hazel eyes once more to the larger group in front of her she continued, "It was manned by young wizards who were quite capable at catching petty thieves and keeping the 'peace' and controlled by aging members of the Wizengamot, who were no longer the warriors nor the brilliant politicians they once were. Their minds were addled by time and complacency. These young men, many fresh from Hogwarts, were charged with reinforcing simple rules, breaking up petty brawls, protecting the innocent. But none of them had been prepared for what horrors lay before them."

"Some of the blackest of magics were an everyday practice, for those powerful enough. Again, back in those days the lines between what we now consider dark and light magic were very thin. 1740 was a very grim year for the world. It was a time of casual dark arts, sacrifices, and group rituals, with blood magic being among the most common. It could be used for menial things like keeping a drawer locked, a book blank to prying eyes, or ensuring you -and you alone- could use the comfy chair by the fire." She looked at many of their faces, gauging their reactions. "But you know it only as the darkness that can ensnare a mind -a body- in ways the Imperius curse could never hope to compete with. Some of these magics have been phased out, purposefully locked away, kept secret, forgotten. Many have never been or will be seen again, as the Masters of those Arts are dying out with the bans of practice." She could nearly hear the Ravenclaws twist and cringe at the thought of lost knowledge. "Others were kept, to be studied and regulated, stored deep within the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. But I apologize, I let my mouth run away again."

She gave her students another good-natured smile. "Let me continue. During this time, many many years ago, there was a great power, a person so malevolent and evil, some say even the Heavens cowered before her. There was only a single name to remember, to fear. The very world trembled beneath her crushing influence." She paused again, this time searching the faces of her female students, and then she saw it, felt it. ' _There…'_ She reveled in the miniscule change in the rooms atmosphere, feeling excitement, or something like it course through her. Having made the split second decision in the wake of her discovery, her mind began whispering words that only a few would be able to hear. ' _Yes, her... A woman did this, both adored and feared. And she ruled them all with an iron fist, just think of it…'_ She watched the dawning realization in each of their young faces. She could feel the tangible sparks of their questions, their curiosity. If the Professor was a cat she would have been purring. The mere thought of having found what she was looking for, a new generation of witches who were done being trod on, and willing to do something about it - it was an intoxicating thought, and she was doing her utmost to retain a smooth, professional expression when all she wanted to do was laugh with delight. Her words were faint in their minds, like a passing thought forgotten moments later. But the seed had been planted; it would take root, and it would grow under her watchful, careful, and intensely patient eyes.

For so many years, both before and after their schooling had started, these students had known only of the dark Lords in history: the cruel men who dominated and bent the world, even magic, to their whims. But never until now had they known there had once been a woman so feared, so powerful… The Professor could see the lust for power, for recognition, for control and freedom begin to grow on some of their faces, as if this fragment of knowledge was all they had needed. ' _Slytherins, of course.'_ She noted the face and House of each girl who showed interest, who heard her call. ' _Ravenclaw, I am not surprised. Rowena always was a knowledge thirsty shrew.'_ But then she had to physically stop her brow from rising at the surprise before her. ' _Gryffindors...'_ She moaned in her head. Savoring the word, the name. ' _It's been too many years since I've had the pleasure of corrupting one of yours, Godric...'_ Today had just gone from satisfactory, to entirely pleasing. The beginnings of plans were already forming in her mind. Mental gears that had been waiting for hundreds of years, as if for this very moment, finally began moving. Free to once again plot the machinations of her purpose.

"She was a god among us, such was her power. But there was one significant problem with the balance between Darkness and Light: this sorceress, she was never defeated. In this time of blood and fear there was no hope; the resistance that had been mounted was petty and poorly executed, defeated so easily it was like stomping on ants." Licking her bottom lip, she could taste the anticipation on the air. "One day, her rule strong, the peoples of the world fell at her feet. There were none to oppose her, her control over us absolute and to our cores… Our very souls encased in chains. Then, one day she was just… _gone_. Vanished, like smoke dissipating in the breeze."

Her hand fluttered in front of her as if to mimic the smoke, and she glanced down at the leatherbound book resting on the podium. It lay open and her lesson plan looked back up at her. Silently and without any sort of movement whatsoever she cast a _tempus,_ the charm writing small fiery numbers at the top of the page: _4:58pm_. There were two minutes before the bell signalling the end of the last lesson. Looking back up, she began to conclude her lecture. "Now, the textbooks you bought for this class-" She trailed off, her mind catching onto a passing thought with eager force and running with it.

What depths had she sunk to, when teaching wide-eyed school children about herself was the highlight of the decade? ' _I've found eternal life, eternal youth. Unconditional, unequaled power... I accomplished my goals. The world was mine. But then... there was nothing left, and ruling a complacent populace was boring. There was no longer that spark, that primal instinct; they had no will to fight. No warriors left, and it's no fun killing people who no longer care if they live or die.'_ Maybe it was the hundreds of years she had been walking the earth, or maybe it was the blackness that pumped through her veins like blood, but the simple thought of **destruction** had her mind swimming in near toe-curling pleasure.

"Professor?" A voice from the front row cut through her musing. "Professor Riordon? Are you alright?"

The woman in question softly shook her head, batting away the thoughts for a moment. ' _In time_ ,' she promised herself. The young boy looked slightly concerned, and she couldn't help but smile at the little Gryffindor. ' _In time…'_

"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Potter." The boy had a head of shaggy dark hair and bright blue eyes. She knew all about this boy and his family. Who didn't these days… This young man was the eldest child of Harry and Ginevra Potter. She had witnessed the younger brother's sorting into Slytherin just last week. "For homework, this weekend..." She quirked a brow at the beginnings of groans. "Yes, homework already; get used to it!" She chuckled as the students began to close their books and put them away. "Read chapters seven through fifteen. I want two and a half feet of parchment on Tuesday. I wish you all a pleasant long weekend."

The charmed bell rang loudly throughout the entire castle, from the astronomy tower down to the deepest reaches of the dungeons, signalling the end of the second week back from summer vacation. The students swiftly finished packing up their things and rushed from the classroom. It was Friday and they were free!

The Professor waved them all out as they left, many of the students bidding her farewell. Closing the thick leatherbound book on the podium, she tucked it under her arm and headed towards her desk to gather the rest of her things before she, too, left the first floor classroom. Picking up a stack of sixth-year essays, she shuffled them around and tucked them beside the book under her arm. Then, with a rustle of robes she moved gracefully from behind her desk. To the right of the large window was an archway carved into the rock wall, where fourteen stone stairs led up to a heavy wooden door. Beyond that were her private quarters. Pondering whether or not she could get a head start on reading over these essays before dinner, she started up the steps.

Her office was wall-to-wall bookcases, the desk covered in organized stacks of parchment and multiple inkwells of varying colors. Through another door was a small sitting room with a fireplace and comfortable looking furniture. Books and loose parchments were stacked everywhere, some in piles as tall as she was, and haphazardly perched on the mantle, ready to tumble at any moment. A mountain of scrolls covered one of the arm chairs. Some books lay open, spines up or pages displayed, but it was apparent they had been thrown at the wall. Another of the walls was covered in maps from all over this world, and some from other planes. A few of them were written in different languages, the letters seeming to shift and move with the light. Her home: it was a study on chaos, and tea at all hours. The last door led to her washroom and bedchambers.

Once she shut the large oak door behind her with a loud thunk, the sound echoing in the empty hall, the dragon sleeping in the large stained glass window opened her eyes. Flexing long claws, she slowly raised herself up on her front legs and the piles of riches she had been laying on moved and flowed like waves of gold, trickling down her scales like water. A long tail with enormous sharp spikes on the end moved lazily behind her in the background of the scene. Neck twisting with a reptilian grace, the dragon stretched, proudly opening her giant leathery wings as she did. Then, refolding her appendages, the great beast slowly turned herself in a circle much akin to a kitten finding the perfect spot to sleep. With a crash that could not be heard, but was instead viewed, the dragon dropped back onto the mountains of wealth. One could almost hear the clinking of gold coins as they tumbled. Laying her head down on large, scaled forelegs, her blazing yellow eyes slid closed as she fell into sleep once more. Sharp jagged teeth peeked out, white fangs catching the dimming light of evening. Written at the bottom of the scene in elegant script -in latin, as so many things were in this world- were the words _Olli subridens cavete draco._

Beware the smiling Dragon.


End file.
